


Fieldwork

by cyphernaut



Series: Culture Shock [3]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Culture Shock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24993547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyphernaut/pseuds/cyphernaut
Summary: Daniel is struggling to adapt to Abydonian society.This is the first incident referenced in the story "Culture Shock" and takes place a few months into Daniel's time on Abydos.Please know there is physical punishment/discipline in this story.  If you don't want to read that, you should probably move on.   (Discipline pairing is Kasuf/Daniel, canon romantic pairing is Daniel/Sha're)
Relationships: Daniel Jackson/Sha're, Kasuf & Daniel Jackson
Series: Culture Shock [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774372
Comments: 20
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to [Fessst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fessst) for the encouragement!

Some days, Daniel liked to tell himself that he was engaging in a long tradition of ethnographic fieldwork, following in the footsteps of Malinowski, Boas, and Mead. Even after the ink had run out of his pens and the pages out of his journal, he’d found ways to record his thoughts. To Sha’re’s amusement, he’d collected cultural artifacts that had seemed significant to his ‘alien gaze’, until one day he rediscovered his cache and had to remind himself why he’d stuffed such an eclectic mix of household items into a sack.

He learned the language and the people, how close to stand, how much eye contact was just enough, how to dress, how to count to twenty on one hand, when to look up, when to look down, how loud to laugh, and how much to gesture when he talked. 

He made a lot of mistakes. Sha’re smiled at them, Skaara copied them, and Kasuf gently corrected them, then assured him that people would understand. He was bound to be different, after all, his foreignness written all over his face.

Daniel thought he might be able to acclimate to Abydos, but he was fairly certain it would not acclimate to him.

On the bright side, he finally had the perfect excuse for not fitting in.

* * *

When Roger Dunbar had suggested that people could only really know 150 people, Daniel had been surprised. At the time, he had known fewer than ten, by his own reckoning. Kasuf, though, seemed to know everyone on Abydos, their personal histories and relationships, and how those relationships wove together to form the fabric of their society. He was determined to pass that knowledge onto Daniel, for reasons far more pragmatic than Daniel’s imaginary research paper on a lost offshoot of an ancient civilization.

The latest introduction came in the most scorching part of the afternoon. As Daniel’s glasses tried to ride the sweat down his nose, Kasuf admonishment of “Do not touch your face, Daniel,” echoed in his head. He scrunched at his nose, which only made it worse, so he quickly knocked the frames back in place with the back of his wrist, hoping no one would notice.

No such luck. The two elders he was supposed to meet drew back almost imperceptibly, and Kasuf’s postured hardened for just a second. They all recovered quickly, though, from the shock of Daniel’s breach of etiquette.

“His eyes,” the elder said, not an uncommon reaction. Daniel had struggled with how to address the misplaced wonder, the Abydonian language having no words for genetic mutation or phenotypes.

Kasuf had no such troubles explaining the anomaly that was Daniel Jackson.

“My son has travelled the stars with the gods.”

“And you carry the light of the stars with you,” the elder deduced, for the first time addressing Daniel directly. The curious stare, as if Daniel were an enigmatic specimen, crept over his face and down his body.

“I was born like this.”

“Marked from birth,” the elder ruminated.

“This is how all of my people look,” Daniel lied, and the two turned in synchronous alarm back to Kasuf.

Whatever he had done, it was much worse than touching his face. Kasuf would not correct him in front of strangers, and he was left to guess at the unspoken rules that he’d broken.

* * *

Kasuf had salvaged the introduction, as he salvaged most everything Daniel mangled. The elders had marvelled over Daniel’s oddities for a while longer before everyone had retired to drink bitter tea and talk around anything that really mattered. Daniel had pretended to sip at his cup while he sat quietly and had blue eyes, which was apparently what he was particularly good at, followed closely by sneezing, sunburn, and literacy.

He didn’t even notice that the meeting had ended until Kasuf was already standing. Daniel hopped up as gracefully as he could and followed Kasuf out of the tent. He hovered, realizing that he was still holding his cup, then hastily placed it inside the flap of the tent when Kasuf began to stride away.

“Come, husband of my daughter.”

Daniel tried to walk beside him, but Kasuf managed to keep half a step ahead. ‘Husband of my daughter’ was new, and not a great sign. Not ‘my son’ or ‘good son’.

“I’m sorry about my face,” he said, before realizing how strange it sounded. Kasuf kept his steady pace, and Daniel scrambled after him. “Kasuf, I’m sorry about touching my face and… talking.”

Kasuf whirled around, and Daniel actually took a step back from him. “Do not speak, Daniel.”

Daniel closed his mouth and stood ready for further instructions or explanation, but Kasuf turned his back on him and started walking again. Daniel trudged after him, wondering whether he would need to be silent for the entire hour back to their home.

He wanted to apologize for whatever he had done that had upset everyone, but he didn’t know what it was, and even if he did, Kasuf had forbidden him to talk. More than that, he wanted to see Sha’re, let her stroke his hair and kiss his face until he’d forgotten what it was like to feel clumsy and useless.

The sun was less vicious than it had been on their walk over, but it still cut into his eyes and nipped at the tip of his nose. Daniel pulled out the water that he carried for both of them and offered it to Kasuf, who drank and returned it wordlessly. Daniel sucked in a mouthful, then wiped at the sweat on his forehead, free from the judgement of strangers.

“Can I just ask a question?”

“No.”

“But I don’t know what I did.”

Kasuf continued in silence, leaving Daniel with the options of dropping the subject or pestering him like an obstreperous three-year-old. Daniel chose the former, and they walked the rest of the way in the uneasy hush of the desert.

The sun was low by the time they returned, and Sha’re had already begun cooking the evening meal. She hopped up to greet them with fresh water, first to her father, then Daniel, despite the half full bag he still carried with them. He drank from the bowl, meeting her eyes as the contact leached the tension from him.

“Sha’re, I must speak to you,” Kasuf broke the spell, and Sha’re took the bowl from Daniel’s hands.

“Yes, Father.” She paused, the same pause she always gave Daniel when a ‘yes’ was actually a ‘no’. “Should I take the food from the fire, or will we talk after it is cooked?”

“I can watch the food,” Daniel offered, and Sha’re studiously ignored him.

Flinching at his mistakes, he realized he’d just turned a triple play. It was inappropriate for him to be preparing food. He’d interrupted Kasuf, who’d been asked a question and had not been given time to answer. He’d phrased a solution in a way that implied Kasuf had not thought of it.

“After it is cooked, before we eat,” Kasuf told her, and she tipped her head down at the tight displeasure in his voice. Kasuf responded to her effortless submission, softening his posture and stretching out a hand to her face.

“Yes, Father,” she said, relaxing at his approval. It was so easy for her. Kasuf kissed her, then went into the tent, leaving Daniel to watch Sha’re as she poked at the meat over the fire.

“He’s unhappy with you.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I think I embarrassed him in front of the other elders.”

“Did you ask his forgiveness?”

“Yeah, sort of. I’m not sure.”

Sha’re frowned at their dinner as the thoughts churned in her head. “Have you gone to him, knelt down, and said, ‘Father, I ask your forgiveness,’ then waited silently for him to respond?”

It was a very specific set of actions, and Sha’re had to know he hadn’t done any of it, so Daniel interpreted the question as the suggestion it was.

“I’m not sure I can do that.”

“Once my father tells me what he plans to do, he will not change his mind.”

So that was why Sha’re had stalled the conversation with Kasuf. She was giving Daniel time to make amends before Kasuf locked himself into a course of action. Kasuf had never ‘done’ anything other than instruct Daniel in culturally appropriate behaviors, letting him know where he had fallen short and how to improve.

“What do you think he’s planning to do?”

“I don’t know, my husband.”

That was a lie. She had an idea, but she didn’t want to tell him. Whatever it was, she hoped for him to avoid it. So Daniel was to apologize for something he didn’t realize that he had done in order to avoid a consequence that was kept secret from him. It sounded in line with most of his social interactions on Abydos. He’d gotten married without realizing it, after all.

“Sha’re, just tell me.”

“My father loves you as a son. Whatever he does, it will be as a son to a father.” She cut off any followup questions to her non-answer by standing and cradling his jaw with her hands. Her face drew up to his with an appeasing smile. “Will you ask his forgiveness as a son?”

As always, Daniel was defeated before he even knew to put up a fight.

* * *

Daniel had learned quickly that on Abydos, information wasn’t nearly as important as relationships. Abydonians had a strange ability to compartmentalize information within its context, and truth was never expected to flow from one situation to another. Lying to maintain social harmony was common. Ignoring blatant lies to maintain social harmony was expected. Going through the motions of something that he didn’t understand and didn’t believe in to maintain social harmony? That was a prerequisite for social survival.

Abasing himself before Kasuf shouldn’t be that difficult. Daniel had seen Skaara apologize on his knees multiple times. Sha’re had once tried to do the same for him, before Daniel had dropped to his own knees and begged her to stop. Walking into the tent, he tried to think of it abstractly, as a cultural practice he’d witnessed and could attempt to study from a more emic perspective.

Seeing his father-in-law sitting by the fire, Daniel realized he was much too close to the situation than any ‘participant-observer’ should be. This wasn’t an abstract cultural ritual; this was his life, one he felt awkward and ill-suited for. He didn’t want to kneel down. He wanted to do what his own world had prepared him to do: ask what was going on and get a straight answer.

He decided to split the difference.

“Kasuf, I’m sorry.”

“So you are.” The words came as a flat acceptance of fact. Daniel wasn’t sure whether that meant what it sounded like, or whether Kasuf was acknowledging the apology.

“I don’t know what I did, but if you tell me, I won’t do it again.”

“We will speak of it tomorrow.”

Frustration flushed through him at the dismissal. When he’d studied other cultures, he’d always thought that the rigid social structure and prescribed ritual would make things easier, an emotional certainty of always knowing the right thing to do at the right time. Instead, Daniel was restricted and inept, unable to communicate even when he knew how. He held three doctorates, had spent decades learning about how people interacted with one another, through language and action, but apparently none of his expertise was worth anything. He just wanted to know what he had done wrong. 

Also, he wanted French fries. And blueberry Pop-Tarts. And cheddar cheese. And maybe to watch some inane talk show or go to the movies or just have a radio on for background noise.

The sounds and smells of Sha’re cooking drifted through the tent flap, and Daniel knew what an ungrateful wretch he was. Her very specific instructions poked at his consciousness, and he revised his approach slightly, bowing his head before speaking.

“Father, I ask your forgiveness.”

If anything, Kasuf’s displeasure grew. He pointed to the tent opening. “Go, Daniel.”

Daniel opened his mouth, but he knew that anything he said would be counterproductive. He left the tent and returned to Sha’re. She could see by his face that he hadn’t been successful, and likely that he hadn’t followed her advice. In lieu of asking about it, she offered him an early taste of the evening meal, her face lighting up when he complimented the flavor. She stood on her toes to kiss him, and he let everything else fall away.

* * *

There were multiple reasons Daniel was not allowed to help Sha’re with the constant stream of chores that occupied her time. First, he was terrible at them. She’d once had to rewash four sets of inner robes when Daniel had collapsed a clothesline trying to help with the drying. Second, husbands didn’t do that type of work. While Daniel was comfortable enough with the deviation, Kasuf had made it clear that he did not need to invite more scrutiny than was avoidable. Last, and most importantly, Sha’re seemed to interpret it as a criticism of her own ability to meet her obligations.

So Daniel sat idle while Sha’re cleared and washed the dishes from their evening meal. Kasuf had taken Skaara out on some pretense, leaving Sha’re and Daniel to discuss what she and Kasuf had discussed about the discussion that Kasuf and Daniel had unsuccessfully engaged in earlier in the day. It was a perverse game of ‘telephone’, and Daniel only wished there were another person on the planet that he could share the analogy with, someone who was also familiar with the game, or the device, or the concept that such a roundabout way of communication was an awkward invitation to misunderstanding. In his experience, trying to interpret any culturally-situated analogies quickly became a matryoshka of explanations.

“Did he tell you why he’s so upset with me?”

“Our father loves you, Daniel. You are his son, yes?”

That wasn’t an answer, but it sounded like it might be the beginning of a breadcrumb trail to one. Daniel only wished he knew in which direction the first step lay. “I guess so. We don’t really have the same way of thinking about family where I’m from. I would be his son-in-law. We probably wouldn’t live together.”

It was very clear that Daniel had gone in the wrong direction. Sha’re continued to wash the dishes in silence while Daniel tried to repair what he’d done. “But I know it’s different here. I love him like a father, and I know he loves me like a son.”

“You are his son, and he is your father. This is what our father said when you chose to stay here with us rather than travel the stars.”

“I remember.” It had seemed more metaphorical at the time, a way of welcoming him into the family as Sha’re’s husband. If he had literally been adopted as an adult, and not even realized it, the irony would boggle the mind. “So that’s why he’s upset? Because I’m not acting like an Abydonian son?”

Sha’re finished stacking the last dish, then turned fully to Daniel, placed her hands in her lap, and bowed her head. “Forgive me, my husband. Our father says that you denied him twice in the presence of the other elders.”

“I denied him? What does that mean?”

“Forgive me, my husband. Our father says that you spoke of another people as your people, and that when he named you his son, you did not name him your father. Instead, you spoke of him as ‘Kasuf’.”

Daniel thought back to the afternoon. There was a good chance he’d done both of those things, but he didn’t realize that he’d _denied_ Kasuf. So he sucked as a son-in-law and an ethnographer.

“Sha’re, I think it’s just a misunderstanding. I didn’t know what I was saying. It would be normal where I’m from to call him by his name.” She said nothing, and Daniel knew that there was something more. “What is it?”

“Forgive me, but our father said that you defied him twice. He told you to be silent, and you continued to speak.”

“Yeah, I might have done that.” He reached under his glasses to massage around his eyes. “Sha’re, on Earth, adults can’t really order other adults to be quiet like that.”

“He is your father,” she blurted out in confused censure, without even a ‘forgive me’ to soften the blow.

“Yeah, I know. Listen, I’ll talk to him tomorrow. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.” He leaned in for a kiss, to put the incident and entire day behind them, but her face dipped slightly from him. “What?”

“Please do not be angry, my husband, my Daniel.”

“I’m not angry. What’s going on?” She kept her face down, and Daniel leaned down to bring their foreheads together. ”Sha’re, just tell me.”

In the answering silence, Daniel remembered how frustrated he’d been at Sarah, that she needed to talk every minor detail of their lives into the ground, and how Steven had just shrugged and said ‘girls’. Not on Abydos. Waiting as Sha’re calculated exactly how much she could keep from him was so much worse. "Sha're..." he implored her.

“Our father will whip you tomorrow.”

All thoughts of cross-cultural comparison screeched to a halt. “What?”

It was hard enough for her to say it the first time. She clutched at the fabric of her clothes. “Please do not be angry, my husband.”

“I...I’m not.” As his scattered mind reformed around the new information, he struggled to produce words. “What do you mean he wants to ‘whip’ me?”

Of course, Sha’re didn’t know how to answer. The word was self-explanatory to her. “After the morning meal, when everyone has left. No one else will know.”

The fact that Kasuf might be considering some sort of public spectacle hadn’t even entered Daniel’s mind. The Kasuf that Daniel knew was gentle and kind, even if he had seemed fed up with Daniel’s shortcomings earlier in the day. Daniel began to feel distant and dizzy. He wanted to ask more questions, but they would just make it seem more real, as if he’d already accepted the general premise.

“Sha’re, people don’t really whip each other on Earth.”

She looked skeptical, and rightly so. It was a lie, of course. People did whip each other on Earth, but Daniel, had he been back home, would not have been subject to it.

“Don’t worry, Sha’re. I’ll talk to him.”

The skepticism intensified, but Sha’re didn’t argue with him. Daniel held her close and pretended that he knew exactly what he needed to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was taking forever, and ended up being longer than I thought, so I'm splitting what I thought was the second chapter into the second and third chapter and posting the second chapter now. The third chapter shouldn't take nearly as long, I really hope.

The value of maintaining a culturally relativistic perspective had been made clear to Daniel since he’d watched his parents in their own fieldwork. He valued cultural diversity and was hesitant to pass judgement on practices and values that were different from his own. He’d been trained to embed himself in a culture without interfering with their practices or beliefs, no matter how alien they may seem.

On the other hand, he really didn’t want his father-in-law to hit him.

The truth was, the ideal of non-interference had probably gone out the window as soon as he’d married Sha’re. Not to mention the fact that he’d fomented a rebellion that had resulted in the death of their god and completely upended their social structure. Against that, surely convincing Kasuf not to carry through with his threat of punishment was just a minor quibble.

Also, this was his life.

With the morning sun weakly filtering through the weave of the tent fabric, Daniel sat picking at his bread and mustering his resolve for what he was going to say in the inevitable, and imminent, conversation.

In a reflection of his own mood, Sha’re silently scraped half her food into her brother’s bowl. Skaara grinned at her, and wolfed it down before Kasuf could say anything about it. Their father just looked up and released Skaara from the table, a rare privilege while the rest of the family was still taking the morning meal, and the teenager hadn’t questioned his good luck before running off to meet with Tobay, blithely unaware of the tense scene he’d left behind.

“You are not eating, my daughter.”

“I’m not hungry, Father.”

“Then come.” Kasuf stood and beckoned Sha’re to follow him outside the tent, leaving Daniel to run breadcrumbs between his finger and thumb as he waited for them to return.

He felt like he should be doing something useful, cleaning up maybe, but he was nervous to take any sort of initiative when the situation seemed so precarious. He’d wanted to talk to Kasuf, to work everything out, but there hadn’t been an opening, and Daniel hadn’t been inclined to create one.

Sha’re returned without her father, and without any indication of what he’d wanted to speak to her about. She began to stack the dishes on the table, scraping what food was left into a large bowl for the mastadges to eat. “Are you finished, my husband?” she asked, ignoring the pile of bread crumbs that Daniel had managed to grind in her short absence.

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” he said, and shifted back from the low table to make room for her to grab his bowl and place it out of sight with the rest.

“Our father will return soon.” With Sha’re facing toward the tray of dirty dishes, Daniel had no way to interpret what she was saying, so he shifted to his knees and went to sit beside her and try to catch a glimpse of her face. She poured water from a pitcher into a large basin as he watched. “He will be very relieved when you do not argue with him.”

The indirect admonition, at one time endearing, grated on him. “I’m not going to argue with him. I’m just going to talk to him about what happened yesterday.”

“Yes, my Daniel. When you talk to him, our father will be very relieved that you agree with him.”

“Sha’re, I’m not sure that’s reasonable.”

Her fingers stilled on the dishes. “My Daniel-”

She must have heard movement at the entrance to the tent, or noticed some subtle play of shadow that had escaped Daniel. He twisted around at her silence and saw Kasuf, backlit by the morning light.

“Daniel. Come here.”

“Kasuf-” Daniel clambered up, his breath catching in his throat when he caught sight of the long, slender stick in Kasuf’s hand. “Um, Father, I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t realize what I was saying.”

“I understand. Your old world was very different.” Kasuf nodded, pensive concern playing out on his face as he stepped toward the middle of the tent. “But you are here, now. Kneel down.”

He used the stick to indicate a point on the carpet, and Daniel edged toward it, an uneasy compromise between obedience and self preservation. Skin tight with tension, Daniel glanced back at Sha’re, who was feigning disinterest as she wrung out a rag above the basin. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted more of her involvement or less. As he searched his memory and imagination for how she would explain the situation to her father, his mind failed him, and he had to plow ahead with his own inadequate words.

“Forgive me, Father. On my world, it’s very common to refer to a wife’s father by his name. Even when I was young, I called the men who acted as my father by their names. It doesn’t mean I don’t think of you as a father. It’s just a difference in my culture.”

Kasuf stared at him without any indication that he’d heard a word that Daniel had said. “Kneel down, Daniel.”

“Please, hear me, Father,” Daniel kept his voice level as his breath and pulse quickened. “I didn’t mean to deny you. It was just a misunderstanding. But I’m used to being able to talk these things out, and if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I don’t have any way to fix it.”

“Daniel, kneel down.” Kasuf’s voice was unyielding, and Daniel’s frustration swelled to the point that he couldn’t contain it, even if he’d wanted to.

“You’re not listening-”

Sha’re suddenly appeared, kneeling on the carpet between them and cutting off Daniel’s protest. “Father, I beg your forgiveness for my husband.”

“Sha’re!” Kasuf rebuked the top of her head quickly, then turned his outrage back to Daniel. “You ask your wife, my daughter, to beg for you?”

“No, I didn’t ask her. Sha’re, stand up.” She dared to glance up at the command, darting her attention between him and Kasuf, torn between the demands of her upbringing and her husband. “Please.”

She obeyed him, of course, and occupied herself by smoothing down her clothes while the calming effect of her intervention settled around her.

“Step back, Sha’re,” Kasuf commanded, and she did, finding a place in Daniel’s line of sight, but out of her father’s. Kasuf tapped the stick lightly against the hem of his robes before speaking again. “Three times, I have told you to kneel.”

“I know, but-”

“Even now, you are defying me.”

“No, I’m not-” Daniel caught himself in the lie. Of course he was defying Kasuf. He didn’t want to kneel down. He just wanted Kasuf to listen to him. “My people are different. We don’t-”

“I am your father! Kneel down!”

Daniel stumbled back. He’d never seen Kasuf so forceful, and certainly not directed at him. In an instant, he realized how vulnerable he was. As much veneration and gratitude as the people of Abydos had treated him with, he was one person in the middle of an entire society with its own inclinations and inertia. Sha’re was nodding tightly and motioning him down, and in it, he felt the weight of an entire planet’s expectations of him. 

He dropped to his knees.

“Take off your outer robe.”

With clumsy fingers, Daniel pulled at the heavy robe. Kasuf was impossibly tall in front of him, and Daniel wedged himself into the fantasy that he could learn something about this cultural practice, that he could lean into the observer half of his participant-observer role. As Daniel pulled the rough-spun fabric into his lap, Kasuf moved to his left and lay a hand on his shoulder, and Daniel’s mind reeled with the effort of intellectualizing what he was experiencing.

“You must not defy me, Daniel.”

Kasuf’s voice was almost kind again, but the words were followed by the hiss of the stick slicing through the air behind him. It landed across his back almost silently in comparison, and a moment later, Daniel felt the sting through the thin layer of his inner robe. Before he had a chance to rationalize the sensation, Kasuf brought it down several more times in quick succession. Daniel pressed his lips together and dug his fingers into the fabric that lay pooled in his lap, but it was already over. Kasuf let go of his shoulder and stepped back such that Daniel could just make out his blurred figure in his peripheral vision.

“Next time you speak of your people, you speak of me - your father, my daughter - your wife, and my son - your brother.” Kasuf obviously expected some sort of answer, but Daniel was too focused on distancing himself from the experience. “Daniel!”

The stick whistled down again, but this time the thin tip of it bit into the back of Daniel’s fingers. Daniel snatched his hand away and brought it to his lips, jolted into the moment.

“Yes!” He spoke around the thin line of fire, then forced his hand down to address Kasuf properly. “Yes, Father.”

Whatever Kasuf took from Daniel’s reaction was enough for him to step back and order Daniel to stand. As much as Daniel had resisted going to his knees, he couldn’t bring himself to get up again. He wasn’t even sure his legs would hold him. Trapped in self-reflection, he didn’t notice movement until Kasuf was already touching him, one warm hand on the side of his face, while the other lightly grasped his arm.

Kasuf’s face was close and voice soft. “Daniel, your wife is watching. You must stand.”

The connection between the two statements eluded Daniel, but he stood anyway, aided by Kasuf’s bracing hand on his elbow. He managed to get his outer robe back in place without too much fuss, Kasuf standing way too close for Daniel’s American sensibilities, but maybe just the right distance for this kind of conversation on Abydos.

“You must not defy me, Daniel,” Kasuf reminded him, and Daniel nodded, knowing that he should give some sort of verbal response, and failing miserably. His glasses were sliding down his face again, and he pushed them back up, even though he probably shouldn’t, but Kasuf only looked on in concern. “I will speak to Sha’re outside, and when I send her back to you, you must remember that you are her husband.”

Daniel had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but he nodded anyway, and Kasuf patted his face. “My son.”

He thought Kasuf might feel sorry for him, and maybe that was all right. Daniel certainly felt sorry enough for himself as Kasuf and Sha’re left him to stew in his own thoughts. Self-pity had overtaken frustration, and Daniel couldn’t tell whether it was progress or defeat. Wanting something to occupy his mind and hands after the rest of his family had left the tent, Daniel made his way to the breakfast dishes, one of the few chores that transcended the boundary between his old and new lives.

He’d made it halfway through them before Sha’re appeared back at his side, so soft and unobtrusive that he hadn’t noticed her entrance until her hand fell on his shoulder. Or maybe Daniel just never knew what was going on anymore.

“My husband, I will do it,” she said, reaching for the bowl in his hands.

“It’s okay, I can do it.”

“You cannot.”

The flat refusal irked him, especially as he looked at the small pile of dishes that he’d clearly already washed. But then again, he’d wanted her to say what she thought, to stand up for herself more. Or maybe he hadn’t. Or maybe he had, but not right now, when he was already frustrated and needed to be doing something right. Or maybe he just wanted to be able to argue with someone without going through all of the song and dance that characterized any potential interpersonal conflict on the planet. He kept his grip on the bowl, even as she tried to pull it from his grasp.

“Sha’re, I know how to wash dishes.”

“You do not.”

“Sha’re!” He yanked the bowl from her hand and slammed it back onto the tray. Flinching at the sound, Sha’re sat back on her heels, head down and to the side, with her hands folded perfectly in her lap, ready to passively take whatever Daniel decided to dish out. It was the perfect defensive move, because Daniel’s anger and frustration turned back onto himself. He wanted to slam his hand into the sand, but he knew it would just scare her more. Instead, he took a few deep breaths. “I’m sorry. Sha’re, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

“Forgive me, Daniel.” She spoke softly to her own lap, ignoring his own apology and stealing the blame for herself. Daniel packaged up his anger somewhere that it wouldn’t bleed out on her.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just-” He pushed back from the dishes, defeated again. “Here.”

She moved to the basin, her own understanding of her duty and Daniel’s demands finally aligning. Starting with the bowls that Daniel had thought he’d already cleaned, she began to make quick work of the dishes. Without losing sight of the task, her head tilted slightly toward him. “Are you angry?”

“Not at you,” he assured her, occupying himself with tracing patterns into the sand.

“At our father?”

“No.”

“At the gods?”

“Yeah, maybe.” He brushed the dust from his fingers. “What did your father say to you?”

She finished wiping down the last dish before turning to him, thoughtful in the way she always was when she had something she wasn’t sure that Daniel would want to hear. “It is difficult. When a wife marries into her husband’s house, a father can speak to a son, and a husband can speak to a wife. Our father speaks to you, but, forgive me, my Daniel, you do not listen as a son. And I may listen as a daughter, but there are things a wife cannot say to her husband.”

He frowned at the obfuscation. “Sha’re, you can tell me anything.”

Of course she didn’t, and Daniel still couldn’t tell whether her explanation was a description of what Kasuf had said to her, or a description of why she couldn’t tell him what Kasuf had said to her. 

“Wh-” Before he could form a question, she took his hand and ran her thumb gently across the tiny welt, then brought it to her lips with the same mix of reverence and infantilization that marked so many of his interactions. He curled his fingers and pulled his hand away. “I’m fine.” 

“I will make you feel better, my Daniel.” She lifted forward to kiss his lips, the tips of her fingers ghosting across his jaw, and when she leaned back, she began to pull her clothing from her shoulders. It was a disquieting parallel to the day they’d met, when Daniel hadn’t known what she’d wanted and what she was being forced to do. In some ways, he still had no idea where her own desires stopped and the demands of her culture began.

“Sha’re stop,” he said, and she froze, as confused as she had been on that first day. Daniel debated telling her to put her clothes back, but realized he didn’t want to be telling her what to do, anyway. He sighed and stood. “I’m sorry. I need some space.”

Apologizing again, and ignoring the creep of guilt that he was doing everything he knew he shouldn’t, Daniel made his way out of the tent, past the reverent stares and bows, past the smells of too many people and animals under a hot sun, past the sounds of lives lived a hairsbreadth from each other, searching out some place where he wasn’t a son, a brother, a husband, wasn’t the Savior of Abydos. Somewhere he could just be Daniel Jackson, awkward genius, awkward nobody.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, finally done! Thank you so much to [Fessst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fessst) for looking over this and catching my mistakes! And for the encouragement. :D

Kalervo Oberg originally posited that there are four stages of culture shock. The first, the honeymoon phase, is a magical time of discovery. Everything is new and wonderful and exciting. One should not make a permanent, irreversible decision about residency in the honeymoon stage. 

In particular, burying one’s means of return under a literal pile of boulders is ill-advised.

The second stage of culture shock is characterized by hostility to the host culture. Minor frustrations are blown out of proportion, and others’ inability to understand that frustration is interpreted as lack of concern or empathy. This is also not a good time to make permanent, irreversible decisions about residency. 

This also might be a time in which that decision has been made moot by a pile of boulders.

Luckily for Daniel Jackson, he didn’t get culture shock. With his aptitude for language, broad understanding of the complexities of human society, and open minded attitude toward diversity of values and practices, he was well suited to move from culture to culture with facility. 

Daniel Jackson also tended to leave cultures before the second stage had time to kick in.

Nestled in the cool sand that carpeted the chamber of the pyramid, Daniel rested his back on the dialing device that he’d managed to decipher a few months ago, the device that had allowed everyone else on the mission to return to Earth. More precisely, it had allowed the stargate to return them to earth, the same stargate that was currently hidden from view just a few meters away, under a few tons of rock.

Daniel wondered what it would have been like to return with them, back to a world he understood, a devil that he knew. Catherine had been right when she said his entire life had been packed into the two suitcases he carried with him, a small improvement on the two garbage bags of his childhood. He would have returned to a grandfather who never wanted him, an academic community that had rejected him, and an Air Force that had gotten from him what they needed. A world he understood, even if it hadn’t seemed to understand him.

He swiped at the vague symbols he’d been tracing into the sand, the same ones he’d worked so hard to find.

“Do you want to return to the stars?”

Sha’re gentle voice pulled him from his ruminations. He wiped the sand from his hands as she hesitated at the entrance to the chamber, rekindling Daniel’s guilt over his demand for space.

“No.” He shook his head, glancing again toward the stargate, then fell back against the cold stone of the dialing device. He knew he should reach for her, or go to her, or give her some indication that he wasn’t rejecting her, but he was exhausted, and all he had were his words. “No, Sha’re, of course not.”

“You missed the evening meal.” She waited as if that merited some sort of response. Maybe it did. Daniel hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. “Father has been worried for you.”

“Sorry, I’ll come back soon.”

Any other day, such a clear dismissal would have been met with a soft “Yes, my husband,” followed by a quick retreat. On this day, though, Sha’re took a few tentative steps toward him, finally pushing back at him at a time he was least able to handle it.

“My husband, for many days, our father has been worried for you. I did not tell you because…” The battle between tact and truthfulness played out on her face. “Because he did not want me to know. Because I should not know.”

“So, why are you telling me now?”

“I think that, on your old world, a wife would tell her husband these things. A wife would tell her husband everything that is true in her mind, even if she defies him.” For a moment, she turned inward, as if she were contemplating a version of Earth that she had constructed in her own mind. “And he would not be angry with her.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

The ensuing silence pulled at Daniel, and he turned his full attention to Sha’re, her stiff posture and determined face, hands held tightly at her waist. In all the time he’d begged her to talk to him, he’d never fully grasped the reality of her own experience of their marriage. He’d been too focused on explanations rather than empathy.

“My Daniel, there is another thing that is true. On your old world, I have not been a good wife to you.” 

“No, Sha’re, that’s not true!” He stood and took her hands in his. “You’re perfect. I just get frustrated because things are different here and it’s hard for me to change how I think. But that’s not your fault.”

She shook her head. “My husband, if you tell me what to do, I will do it. I will not be _different_.”

“It doesn’t really work that way where I’m from. Every relationship is different.” He struggled to explain it in terms she could understand, even if in the end, it didn’t really matter what he said. There was no way for anyone on Abydos to verify it, and it wouldn’t change anything. He was free to idealize Earth as much as he wanted. Still, the desire for some sort of mutual understanding tugged at him, and he ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek.

“There aren’t so many rules,” he started, then realized that it was a complete lie. Of course there were rules. They just weren’t apparent to him because he was so used to them. 

“And adults can’t tell each other what to do,” he continued, fully aware that was also not true. Adults told each other what to do all the time, even outside of explicitly hierarchical social structures. 

“And they don’t punish each other.” Again, totally false, at least if passive aggressive jabs counted. 

“Husbands and wives have to figure out for themselves what they want their relationship to be like, together.”

Daniel thought that one might actually be right.

Sha’re considered everything that he had said. “And if they cannot agree?”

_Then they leave each other._

He couldn’t say it. It was true, but he couldn’t say it. Maybe he’d already been on Abydos too long.

“That’s why it’s important to find someone who agrees with you.”

She nodded slowly, coming to her own conclusions that Daniel couldn’t hope to understand. “I will agree with you, my Daniel. But I also must agree with our father.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll try to agree with your father, too.”

* * *

The third stage of culture shock is characterized by adjustment. New customs and ways of thinking finally start to make sense. The ‘visitor’ begins to understand how he fits into the culture that was previously so foreign, in the best and worst ways.

Daniel was starting to realize that his refusal to butt up against the mores of Abydonian society was less about a benevolent policy of non-interference and more about the need to adapt to a life that he was living, and not just observing.

“Daniel.” Kasuf’s light whisper floated around the edge of Daniel’s consciousness. “Wake up, my son.”

Reluctant to leave the warmth of his wife under the blankets, Daniel rolled toward Kasuf’s voice and blinked the sleep from his eyes. It was still too dark for his glasses to make much of a difference, but he reached for them by habit. “What’s wrong?”

“Come with me.”

Daniel was too sleepy to question, and he dressed himself quickly and quietly, hoping to give Sha’re a few more hours of sleep. Kasuf was out of the tent as soon as Daniel’s shoes were on, and Daniel hurried to follow. “Where are we going?”

“Do not speak.”

The command came out soft and kind, but Daniel chafed against it. Scuttling across the sand, he caught up to Kasuf and peered through the dark for any sort of clue in the man’s face of where they were going, and why. The moons were low on the horizon, casting just enough light to catch Kasuf’s impenetrable expression. When Kasuf nodded in tacit approval of his silence, Daniel bit down on his lip to avoid repeating his questions.

They fell into a rhythm, and with no idea of how long the journey would take, Daniel was forced to let time slide by. The night sky stretched out above him, and he tried to imagine which direction Earth would be, until the stars began to fade with the creeping light from the east. Soon, Nagada rose from the rolling sea of sand.

The city gates were open to the desert, and the only guard was more interested in potential sandstorms than travellers. As Kasuf and Daniel crossed the threshold, they were greeted with a slight bow, an acknowledgement of their respective positions of leader and savior of the people. Kasuf turned from the guard and began to climb the stairs to the top of the city wall.

They reached the top just as the sun began to peek over the horizon. Kasuf found a spot near the inner edge of the wall, and sat, overlooking the city whose inhabitants were just beginning to stir. Daniel, trying his best to emulate an obedient son, followed suit.

“No, sit beside me, my son.”

Daniel thought he had been sitting beside Kasuf, but at the command, he scooted over until their robes brushed up against each other in the cool air. Kasuf waited for him to settle in, then indicated the sleepy city below.

“Look at Nagada. So many people, and they are all free because of you, and your friends from the stars.”

The praise and approval soothed something in Daniel that he hadn’t known was raw. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his hands around them, an excuse to play at the fabric of his robes. Even if he’d been given permission to speak again, he didn’t know what he would say.

“The people of Abydos are honored that you stayed with us. And of the tribes of Abydos, our tribe is honored above all the others, that you are our brother. And my home is honored above all the others, that you are my son.” Daniel felt small in the face of his role on the planet, and in Kasuf’s regard. “But like all sons, you must honor us not just with your presence, but with your words and actions.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” He was unsure whether he should have spoken at all, but Kasuf reached up and lightly squeezed the back of Daniel’s neck, quieting the shame that threatened to bubble up in him.

Kasuf continued the lecture. “Today, every person remembers what it was like to suffer under Ra, to see our parents and children die in the mines. But there will come a day when people forget what it is to be slaves. Abydos is changing, and no one knows what that will mean for our people.”

The sun had risen high enough that its rays fell on the city, and Daniel could make out the people below going about their morning chores, chores that had gone largely unchanged for millenia. Abydos had seemed a place frozen in time, at least until Daniel had arrived.

“There may be a day when the wells dry up, when the yaphetta runs out. And the people may say, ‘Even under Ra, we were never so thirsty. Even under Ra, our children did not die of hunger.’ On that day, I hope they will also say, ‘Daniel is our brother. Daniel is our son.’”

Daniel had always imagined public esteem as a protective force, but maybe Kasuf was right, and there was greater safety in anonymity. At least on Abydos.

“I hope this for you, and also for your wife, my daughter.”

The thought of endangering Sha’re sobered him further. “I’m sorry, Father.”

They sat in silence, as the sun grew stronger on their backs. Daniel thought it might finally be his turn to speak his piece, but for once he didn’t have much to say. The shame that had threatened him earlier was gone, and he found himself at peace with being forgiven. He sighed, feeling his mind shifting to accommodate this new reality, and not sure of what he was losing of himself in the process.

“You live too much in your mind. You are not with us,” Kasuf said, breaking the spell of Daniel’s introspection. 

Daniel shook his head. “I miss my world.”

“This is your world.”

“I miss my old world.”

“What do you miss?”

The litany of things Daniel missed would stretch all the way back to Earth. His camera. Convenience stores. The optometrist. Pens. Thai food. Toothpaste. Movie theaters. Running water. Trees. Air conditioning. Ice.

“Being smart,” he said, and Kasuf smiled.

“You are smart, my son, but you think like a child.”

“I don’t,” he protested, speaking his mind directly in the way that only the children did on Abydos. “I just didn’t learn the things children learn here. I learned different things.”

“You can learn now, but you must let me teach you.”

“I know. I want to. It’s just a lot to remember.”

“You will not forget what I taught you yesterday.”

Daniel hugged his knees tighter and looked away. “No.”

“You must not defy me, Daniel.”

“I know.” Daniel was starting to come to terms with the extent of Kasuf’s efforts to ensure Daniel’s future on Abydos, and the fact that he might have been bringing most of his problems on himself. “I’m sorry. I just get really frustrated that I know all of these things from my old world, and it’s all useless here. I just want to feel like I’m in control of my own life.”

“No one is in control of his life, not even the gods.”

“On my old world, we were taught to take control of our own lives.”

“And what of everyone around you?”

“There was no one around me.”

Kasuf’s disturbed silence was answer enough. Daniel wasn’t even sure whether he was telling the truth. Sara had been around him, until he’d pushed her away. In a way, he had rejected the academic community as much as it had rejected him. He could do compassion, and empathy, and kindness, but he’d never been one to prioritize maintaining relationships over, well, over anything. Life hadn’t been set up that way for him.

“We were supposed to be independent.”

“You do not belong to yourself anymore, my son.”

“I know.”

He looked out at the city, which had sprung to full life as they had talked. They hadn’t spent much time there since Ra’s defeat. There had been several days of bustle and bowing, and crowds trying to touch Daniel’s hair and glasses before Kasuf had suddenly decided that it was ‘better’ that they set up next to the pyramid. He’d felt so lucky to escape the crush of people that he hadn’t realized that Kasuf had made the decision solely for him, not until Skaara had been reprimanded for complaining about it and had been ordered to apologize directly to Daniel.

“And we belong to you, too, my son.”

Daniel nodded, feeling the slip of his glasses as they began their inevitable trek down his nose. He pushed them back up and tried not to worry too much about Kasuf’s judgement.

* * *

According to Kalervo Oberg, the fourth stage of culture shock is mastery. Anxiety disappears as the resident moves through society with facility. In this best-case-scenario utopia, the resident begins to enjoy everything the host culture has to offer, and assumes a fully bicultural identity.

In Daniel’s experience, most people just moved back home.

Daniel didn’t have the option to move back home.

Daniel didn’t _want_ to move back home.

Daniel though he might _be_ home.

Besides, Kalervo Oberg was just making a random speech to the Women’s Club of Rio de Janeiro, not publishing an actual peer reviewed paper. He had been an economist by training. He hadn’t done any actual research in the field.

There was a good chance Kalervo Oberg was full of it.

Daniel found Sha’re grinding flour for bread, just as she’d been doing when they’d first kissed months ago, when Daniel had realized that he wasn’t going to leave her behind on Abydos.

Before he could sit down beside her, she’d already jumped up to give him water.

“It’s fine, Sha’re. I’m not th-” The bowl was already in his hands, so he lifted it to his lips. “Okay, thanks.”

“Your nose is red, my husband.”

“Oh, yeah. It was dark when we left, so I didn’t…” He trailed off as he realized that the explanation didn’t matter. Sha’re took the bowl from him, and he grabbed her wrist before she could go back to her task. “Wait. I wanted to apologize to you.”

She waited, just as he’d asked her to, until Daniel realized that he hadn’t actually apologized, just announced his intention to do so.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so frustrated lately. I know it’s been hard on you.”

She shook off the apology and knelt back down to roll the handstone across the yaphetta. “My Daniel, you are my husband. I am your wife. If you are unhappy, I am unhappy.”

“I don’t want to make you unhappy.”

“You do not.”

Daniel sat down beside her. “Because you make me very happy.”

Share swept the flour from the quernstone into a shallow bowl. “Then I am happy.”

“Sha’re, look at me.” She straightened up and wiped the remnants of yaphetta from her hands. She didn’t look happy. Daniel ran his thumb over the crease between her eyebrows. “Come on, let’s go back to the caves.”

Her expression eased at the invitation. The cave system was a strange sort of refuge, but it was a place where they could be alone, where they’d first started to really understand each other. It was where Daniel had fallen in love.

“Yes, my husband,” Sha’re agreed, then paused to take in the flour she’d just prepared, no doubt one of many tasks that lay before her in the day. Daniel heard the ‘no’ in the spaces between her words. “And should I leave the flour for bread until tomorrow?”

“Yeah, just leave it,” he agreed, with a small smile. 

Sha’re studied his face, surely aware that he’d caught the oblique declination of his invitation. “Forgive me, my husband. There will be no bread with the evening meal.”

Daniel’s smile only broadened. “I don’t want bread. I want my wife.”

“Forgive me, my Daniel, our father will want bread.”

“Then you can say, ‘Forgive me, my Father, my husband forbade me to make bread.’” At that, Sha’re bit down on her own smile. Daniel had no idea how that would go over at the evening meal, but he was willing to risk it to see the amusement dancing in his wife’s eyes. “I’ll help you when we get back.”

“My Daniel, please do not ‘help’ me,” Sha’re laughed, and Daniel felt only a twinge of indignation.

“It’ll go faster with the both of us.”

“It will not.”

She was right. It wouldn’t go faster. Daniel would make a mess of it. It didn’t seem to matter though, when she was smiling at him with a playful look that had been absent for the past few weeks. 

“Sha’re, are you defying me?” He reached out to brush back the few strands of hair obscuring her face. Things were clicking together in the same way they had in the caves when Sha’re had begun to teach him how to speak her language, and a sudden burst of affection forced a grin onto his face.

Sha’re couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Does it remind you of your old world?”

He shook his head, then leaned in to kiss her. “It’s so much better.”


End file.
